The Queen of the Storm and the Bastard of the Dragon
by Insertsomegibberishnamehere
Summary: Orys Baratheon does not fear his Stormland enemies, rather the Fury of the last Durrandon. - My first fanfiction, so please be gentle ;-;. Also note that this story uses non-canon characters (I don't consider them OCs however) for more vivid background. Updates weekly :)
1. Chapter 1 (King Argilac the Arrogant)

"We ride out into battle!" The damned Targaryen raised his banner in war. Aegon Whatever-his-damn-name-is wishes to conquer my kingdom! Ha! A foolhardy thought for a Valyrian.

"The gods has blessed us!" I laughed as the first drops of rain touched the garrison. The foreign army is no match against us, whatever they have, we have double as much. The people of the Kingdom of Storm are raised by rain and lightning, if the Targaryen army doesn't fear us, it is the thunder and lightning they should.

On top of a nearby hill, the first banners of a three headed dragon could be seen. I smirked and turned to Morrigen, "If we die, we die with the tears of the gods!" The army reaches closer, and I begin the march.

A horn rings and my men run for the foreigners. The swift stag has begun its fight with the arrogant dragon. I ride my mighty white stallion into battle, with the strongest armor and weapons my men could provide. I see the goddamned bastard in black armor riding his horse and driving swords into my men, I fight twice as fiercely, I place my sword into men's heart and removed their bodies from their heads.

"Fucking mud!"

"That damn dragon is going to kill us all!"

I couldn't even see the dragon, but our spearmen can take them down easy. Reports of my men tell them of a weakling dragon no bigger than a keep, no bigger than the biggest ship broken by our army in Shipbreaker Bay.

I continued to thrust my sword into soldiers, more entrails thrown as I see more men fall and future cadavers flee.

A crossbow rips through my skin, stabbing me just in my lower chest.

A roar in the ground, not that of thunder, not that of anything I heard before—the roar of a dragon. Men turned their attention to the highest hill as a silvery monster ascended high enough to be noticed by the men. Spears are thrown at the dragon, yet Rhaenys the Dragon Bitch controlling it dodges them with swiftness.

The dragon is provoked, a spear or two hits it just where its jaw is. The beautiful golden eyes of the dragon widen as it gives out a roar that could match thunder.

"Argil—" The voice of Merian Buckler called out for me, but I could not see my personal bodyguard as mud was flying as high as houses and screams as terrifying as those in the dungeons. My stallion stops and turns until I see the Baratheon bastard drive a sword into the belly of my closest friend. My heart beats faster as my closest counsel is slain at the hands of a foreigner.

"Bastard!" I yell after him, and my stallion makes a run for the bastard. The Dragon Bitch's beast flies low enough that its wings begin to knock my men to the dust.

Her stern and loud voice still echoes through my mind, " _Dracarys_."

Flames bright in the colors of the Sun erupt through the hills in which we fought. I could see men being cooked in their armor, both Durrandon and Targaryen alike, the burn so cruel that not even the storm rains could heal them. I can hear the terrified screams of these men, I could feel the terror in _me._

It's too late, we need to yield if we wish to eat, piss, and whore another— _No_ , this is a foolhardy thought, for a Durrandon to surrender, especially to a bastard.

My attention turns towards Dickon Morrigen and Barlon Blackhaven, where in Seven Hells are they? The storm turned too heavy to hardly see any men left, just rain pounding my back and mist covering what left I could see. The dragon releases bright fire flames again, mixing with the thunder of the powerful storm. I felt the heat burn my back with excruciating pain, to add to worse, the flame may have frightened my stallion.

My _beautiful_ horse, now just as worse as the bastard, the bitch, and the beast combined, stops cold and knocks me off the grip. I crash into the mud as the horrified horse runs away from the ruins. I scramble for my sword, and it is found buried quickly by the heaps of mud. I could feel my face covered in a helm of mud, down to my beard which looks just as brown as it ever was before.

A blade was to my chest, held by a man with a strong built.

I pulled out my sword out, but the stressed blade snaps, leaving the tip buried in the sand.

"You can yield, save all these men, and rule the Stormlands under King Aegon Targaryen."

I looked up to see what the bastard Orys Baratheon is. The natural reflex of me made me kick his feet and knock him to the mud. He lay there, with him gripping firmly his Valyrian blade.

"Fuck his dragon whores!" I yell at him, before giving him a hard kick to the balls. "Fuck Aegon! I kick him on the chest. He seemed to anguish a little. This is the perfect time to use his sword against him. I attempted to grab the sword from his grip. I was so close to winning...

"Fuck—"

A slash a cross my chest.

Orys Baratheon, a bastard from Dragonstone, managed to fatally wound a Storm King, a Durrandon, while lying down. He placed his hand on my shoulder as he stands up and I fall down. He withdrew my sword from my belly, and with the blood of the blade, the loud thump of my falling body crashes in the mud once more.

"Final sayings, Durrandon?" Orys asked, his blade positioned at my neck. He had a look that was hopeful me yielding. Spit on that, my daughter Argella is twice as mighty as her father. She'll kill Orys. She will.

"Spit on you, Baratheon. I'd die a king than some lord. Ours is _always_ the fury."


	2. Chapter 2 (Queen Argella Durrandon)

Argella Durrandon

Storm's End was barred on my orders as more and more peasants introduced themselves as refugees. I sat on the Storm Throne with the spymaster Coler Tarth and two men of my bodyguard next to me. Half the garrison abandoned in the night, after the raven arrived telling of Father's death.

Father was killed not far from Bronzegate, at least three days ago, according to the raven. He was killed at the hands of Orys. Bloody Orys! I sobbed the night I learned of it, I barely could sleep. My only family member, after mother Analys and aunt Argalia died, was slain at the hands of a _bastard_. Oh, I remember the times in which I would sit beside Father, while commanding at the war table, how he would chase me down the halls pretending to be a monster as I ran for my mother. _I will kill him_ , I promised myself, _I'll kill him_ , no matter what happens when I face him. I wore black, as black as the night and I cut my hair, which was as long as to my legs, down to blade of my shoulder.

"Coler," I called to the elder man of fifty years, I could have called him Ser, but he holds a sword and shield like a girl with palsy.

The blonde man looked at me, "Yes, Her Highness Argella?" He spoke in an annoyed, almost sarcastic voice. The young child beside him, a boy seemingly no older than ten, crawled away. The child had the same pale blonde hair and green eyes of Coler, mayhaps he is a bastard.

"Does any information from the Bronzegate tell of the bastard's movements?"

He cleared his throat and scratched his snobby mustache, "Lord Orys is not far north from the Bronzegate, however reports from my spies tell me he intends to capture Storm's End." My heart sank to my belly, did the death of my father—one of the mightiest Durrandons of this time—bother him enough? It does not matter.

I signaled two of my guardsmen, both sons of my father's bannermen, Cregan Kellington and Alekyne Errol, to follow me. The men in capes and gold-tinted yellow armor proceeded as we descended lower and lower into the bowels of Storm's End.

A long hallway, lit by a single torch, had a iron barred door in the end. I had Cregan and Alekyne open the door. I was met immediately by a man once blubbery, now as thin as a stick, swinging his arms at my skirt.

"Mercy!" Emmon bawled, "Free me!" This man had the silvery white hair and lilac eyes typical of a Valyrian. He shook his stubs that was once his hands. "Please!" This man was the one sent by Aegon Targaryen to inform Father of the possible betrothal between his bastard brother and I. Father reacted violently to this, he chopped off the hands of pitiful Emmon before I myself was informed of this proposal.

"What well do you know of Baratheon?" I asked him, turning away and looking over at the tiny hole that was the only source of light in the cell.

"My Queen," He spat, "I do not know of Orys! I've been trapped here for—"

"Answer her bloody Gods damn it!" Cregan cut him off. He grabbed Emmon by the tattered deep green garb he wore, and prepared his fists to knock him.

"Shut it!" I told both of them, Cregan dropped Emmon on the floor, with the crack of the haggard man's bones on the stone floor. I stared Cregan and met his nondescript brown eyes. I turned my attention to the sobbing man, "How valuable is this bastard to Aegon?"

"Uh—" He stuttered, "Orys, he—and Aegon?" The man kept sputtering crap out of his mouth. I saw how much he suffered— yet he did not suffer enough. I straightened my posture as held my hands together in a true queen-like manner.

"Speak."

"Orys... Aegon and Orys were inseparable when they were just tiny babes. Aegon knows all of Orys' secret and Orys knows all of Aegon's. They are the closest of brothers, Aegon prefers to spend time with Orys over Visenya, but not over Rhaenys."

"Good." I thought to myself out loud. "Bring him to the dungeons in the lighter levels and feed him more food." I commanded Alekyne. The dark blonde man nodded and ushered Emmon out of the cell. They proceeded further into the more forgiving cells until I could no longer hear their footfall. I had Cregan followed me as I led him up spiraling staircases and into the main hallway that is the bedrooms for royalty. I walked towards the end, an elaborate door, carved with the stag of the Durrandons, and the words, _Ours is the Fury._ This room was once Father's.

I opened the door and Cregan followed in, but slamming it shut.

"We—" I said as I turned around, to find Cregan press his lips into mine.

"I missed you..." I heard the lean man mutter. I felt a burst of ecstacy burst through my veins and I kissed him harder in return. It felt wonderful, the way he stroked his hands up and down my body, until I opened my eyes to see his horrid square face.

I pushed him away from my lips.

"Do not touch me..." I whispered, "I am a Queen." He still held me in his grip, but his face seemed unrelenting.

"And I don't care..." He whispered back, and kissed me again, his gentle kisses trailed down my neck. His hands followed, and I felt the straps of my dress loosen.

"Do not touch me!" I pushed him away, my bones stiffened. My jaw clenched, "I may have loved you when I was sixteen, but now—" I paused when I saw his stare, traumatizing at most, the urge made me slap him right up. He was the man I thought I loved seven years ago, when I was a lost teenage heir to Storm's End and he the lonely heir to Kellingtown. In truth, it was just looks and lust. Father kept him in Storm's End as a hostage in case the dubious loyalty of the Kellington's be officially undone.

"What for? Because you wish to be maiden forever?" He raised a brow.

"My father offered me to Aegon because I am one." I whispered mindlessly as I proceeded to the clear glass pane that overlooked the Narrow Sea, "I do not want to loose this innocence to a knight."

"I am not _some_ knight." The averagely built man retaliated.

 _"And yet you are."_ I muttered again underneath my breath. I breathe, then I turn again to him, "I need you here because you are my most handy battle commander." He is better than the maester Arek, and Ser Leopold Estermont, and all the other men who deserted in the night.

"Then if I were you I would surrender, did you see what happened to Harrenhal?" He smugly said, and adjusted his cape, which was the bright blue color of his sigil.

"Are you soft in the mind? For centuries, the Durrandons have been kings of our realm, and I would not let some bastard sit on our throne! The blood of the gods runs in my veins! Get out!"

He chuckled, "You are your father's daughter." He picked up his helm, as he rose from the chair. "I'm warning you though, some men would love to see another day." He walked for the door, "think wisely." Cregan opened the door and quietly and swiftly left the room.

What did he mean?

I felt shivers run down my back. Yet some men are as loyal as Ser Merlian is to my late father— the damned man died on the field with him! I should not let such a petty remark disturb me.

I opened the door to see Ser Harys, a household knight. The freckled red headed man was holding what appears to be a sack.

"Ser Harys," I called him, he turned with a horrified look. Ignoring what his look, I asked, "What are you doing with that sack?"

"Your Highness," He muttered, "I'm just preparin—" The young knight stopped talking, his expression turned just blank and serious. My father was once squired by this knight, very excellent swordsman and just as honorable as his father, which makes me wonder what he is preparing _for_.

"Preparing for what?" I asked, and raised my brow in suspicion. Maybe he's preparing to flee? There's no other place safer here than Storm's End, unless he intends to flee to the Free Cities.

"Uh," he began to stutter, "well—"

I have no time for this.

"Just escort me to the throne room, for Seven's sake." I cut him off, he silently nodded and escorted me to the throne room.

When I arrived, the first thing I laid my eyes on was the peasants, old and young cowering as the storm echoed in the halls— so many useless mouths to feed. They were merely just people serving my bannermen. Just unresourceful souls. Stableboys and laundry maids like, they all seemed competitive for food. Even the one with palsy was devouring his food like a slave. I looked up at the throne.

My heart stopped.

Cregan, of all bloody people, was sitting there, his elbows on the arm rest and his knuckles on his hardened cheek. Coler even stood there, with a proud posture and an upturned nose. The same boy he was talking to was beside him, with Coler's arm over the young boy's shoulder. A voice lingered in my head, _All hail the Queen of the Storm._ This voice became louder and louder, and I felt my heart shriveled with fear. What's happening?

I turned around.

The men and women were cheering, sarcastically. They were bawling as if they were in a tavern. I knew they were sarcastic, the way they spoke, the way they executed. Ser Harys carrying his sack, sack of belongings. Cregan and his willingness to surrender. I was overwhelmed. "All Hail the Queen of the Storm."

"All Hail the Queen of the Storm."

In the confusion, I turned around the see Kellington and Tarth. Tarth had tears falling down his eyes, as he held the boy closer. _That is his son_.

"I am sorry." Tarth muttered.

"Deliver her to Orys." Kellington calmly ordered.

"Like bloody hells you will! Seize Kellington!" I ordered, what is the man thinking? Harys, Errol, and other "knights" unsheathed their swords. I thought they were going for Kellington. Yet those weaklings encircled me. My heart was thumping and my stance wore off.

Traitors!

Alekyne grabbed me by the back, "I am sorry." He whispered in my ear, "Storm's End is no funeral pyre." A Selmy knight held me by the neck, this bloody man is strangling me.

"Let me go...!" I ordered, but I was drowned out by the chanting of the people.

"Deliver her naked and chained." Kellington ordered. The knights holding me softened their grip in surprise, even Tarth raised his brows in surprise.

Alekyne prostested, "Wait—"

"I am castellan of Storm's End until Lord Orys arrives." Kellington cut him off. Cregan just called Orys a Lord! These men think that Orys will take over! Do they see me as an incompetent brat? The guards relented and they dragged me, they bloody dragged me! The peasants bystanders reached in closer as my screams echoed off the walls. The Selmy knight snatched my crown, my mother's crown, and I watched him as he delivered to Kellington the crown.

"No! You cannot do this! I am the Queen, the Queen of the—" Thunder and heavy rain drowned my speech. The peasants grabbed garments from my gown off, tearing it into shreds as I was dragged farther and farther away from the Storm Throne. I was just... crying. It is no trait for a half-god Durrandon to cry, but crying is a human emotion, and I am half-human. From what I could see left of the throne, Tarth was shaking Kellington, he was dissuading Kellington from delivering me to Orys naked.

I stared at Alekyne one more time, he stared back at me with tears flowing down his cheek. "I'm just doing a duty." He told me.

The last thing I remember is a _welcoming_ fist to the nape.


	3. Chapter 3 (Orys Baratheon)

Hello kind people! I am so sorry I did not update the story the past two weeks, my dog passed away and it was just horrible for me. You _can_ say, however, that I feel better now. Enjoy the chapter where everything picks up. Cheers!

* * *

I was swigging down wine in the crack of dawn when I saw what appears to be a small host of at least ten men with banners I could not recognize. Maybe its a supply from Aegon up north, but this lot came from the south of our garrison. I stood up to get a closer view of the host. They drew closer and closer to camp, and I stiffened as the risen sun has revealed that the banner was the Durrandons.

I tossed my cup of wine to the side, and made for the alarm bell. With a dozen strong rings, it managed to wake a half of the sleeping garrison. They were ready wielded with swords, even the drunk were ready with their helms. But the host did not just carry banners of the Durrandons—alongside them was the banner with a three headed dragon in flaming crimson red, no other than house Targaryen. Gods damn, If Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes was here, another invader brought to dirt by dragonfire, yet Rhaenys left dead in night to meet again with my brother, Aegon.

"Prepare your swords, men!" I cried, raising my Valyrian Steel sword in the air. The men positioned themselves, though some was falling from the morning headache.

The host reached the camp, most of them on foot, and in heavy armor. Though my men gripped their swords harder and placed their shield as cover, the moment the front line soldiers reached directly in front of the camp, they stopped their march. Every single soldier dropped their swords and the stag banner of Durrandon, and raised the banner of Targaryen even higher.

A knight in a white cloak dismounted his black horse, and removed his helm. All I saw is a measly face, with hardly any battle scar on it and the hair of a girl. The Durrandons be blessed if this was their new priced general.

He kneeled on his right knee and cleared his throat. "I am Cregan Kellington. Commander of the Queen's bodyguard." With those words, I pointed my sword at him. "Do not worry," He continued, "We surrender the Kingdom of the Storm and Storm's End to King Aegon Targaryen. We hope this can prove our loyalty." The baby faced fool stood up, and his men brought me a lady, naked and chained. She had black hair of dark night and eyes the color of the sea, all too familiar with a face I met no more than three weeks ago.

These bloody men surrendered me Argella Durrandon.

They pushed her forward and she fell on her knees.

"Do you swear on all gods of your surrender?" I asked the men, and pointed at this Kellington. They all responded by raising their arms in the air. These people are very melodramatic, dropping swords and raising banners, I wonder the ceremony in which they arrested the poor damsel.

"We promise on the gods that King Aegon worships." Kellington said with friendliness, "We also present you the crown of Argella." He pulled out a crown from his cloak, it was bronze, and the very beautiful design of the Durrandon antler, which was lined with black Dragonglass. I took it, and hung it by the handle of my sheathed sword.

Yet, I only was focused Argella, I pitied her, delivered naked and chained through a one week journey, so starved little of her ribs could already be seen, so bruised it was like her skin was truly purple in color, so pale that she looked like, overall, a walking skeleton. I took off my fur cape, even if it was dirt ridden, and cloaked Argella with it. She seemed reluctant on accepting it, but she did anyway to cover her exposed _areas_.

"Let the men set up camp. Have Ser Cregan settled, he and I will discuss the surrender." I ordered my men, and informed Kellington's men. I watched as the host was slowly drained, either to set up camp just by ours, or for Kellington to visit the general tent.

Eventually, it was just Argella and I. She was still shivering on the ground, but otherwise silent. She can't be touched, because we'll lose the _Stormland_ support _._

I extended my hand to her in common courtesy, as I intend to bring her to my tent, the safest place in the camp filled with men who didn't whore in weeks. Whatever these Stormland men think I'm going to do, it does not matter. Argella looked at me with a a refusing face, and curled her knees to her chest.

"Don't touch me." She spat, "You killed _him._ " Drops of rain began to wet the dry grass she sat upon.

"Not without a fair fight" I lied, the man was old and I just met him on the mud. I insisted on extending my arm close to her, "You will be fed and bathed, like a lady."

"I am still the queen." She sternly said, "—and you will never receive my hand, _bastard._ " Ah, she says it quite like her father. I recall receiving the chest of Emmon's bloodied hands, the envoy probably dying the cells at Storm's End. This because Aegon doesn't need a third wife, so he offered me, his bastard half- brother, which saw insult and no dignity. She's keeping true to Argilac's words, _"These are the only hands you will receive."_

"Would you mind standing up, then?" I asked her, placing a hand on my sword, and her crown.

She looked away silently, she focused her attention on the dirt. She let out a heavy exhale, and held the cloak closer to her torso, as if she was trying to shield herself from the rain.

"Leave me be." She commanded, "A Durrandon is descended from the gods, we can withstand anything."

"Pardon myself, but I would ask for you kindly to stand up." I requested. She didn't even reply. Only stares where shot back like a flaming arrow.

"That, Lady Argella, or I myself will pick you up."

Her eyes widened, "Leave me alone!"

I picked her up and carried her, she weakly protested, she tried to push me away but yet I managed to get her into my tent and drop her gently there on the bed. She slowly lay herself down and covered herself even tighter as she began to weep uncontrollably.

"Get rid of your _mask_ and make it quick." She managed to say amidst her crying. Does she think I'll rape her? A truly stupid idea, this is a war, for god's sake. One drop of lost maidenhead will end with only disaster.

"Remember, Lady Argella, we will not touch you, nor hurt you. We'll lose the Stormlands." I echoed my thoughts.

"Stormland?" She whispered-cried to herself, sounding in utter disbelief.

I turned to a table, with Braavosi wine and an empty goblet, none the less I poured a cup of the wine and served it her, I placed it down on the table beside her.

"If you wish to drink some wine, go ahead, Lady Argella. It's not poisoned." I told her. Her crying eased, and she turned her head to me, before reaching in for the cup to quickly drink it, finishing it no longer than a second. She seemed relieved, but when both our blue eyes met, she dropped back on the bed and continued sobbing. I pulled out the crown from my sheathe. I pause for a second the admire the intricate beauty of the crown, only to be welcomed more sobs from Argella.

I lay down the crown beside her, "Is there anything else you need, Lady Argella?" I asked her. I turned away and stared out the exit of the tent.

"Kill Cregan." I faced Argilac's daughter, with the cold voice she spoke in.

"I was just going to see him." I quietly told the lady, "Excuse me, Lady Argella." I took her delicate hand, as cold as it was, and kissed it gently. She didn't respond or protest, just staring at me with those piercing eyes, which I could see furious with revenge. I smiled at her before I left the tent. She lives up to her Fury.

The Fury of the last Durrandon.


End file.
